


Tire change and trapeze catch

by Meraripill



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Frottage, Hand & Finger Kink, Lust, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraripill/pseuds/Meraripill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets a flat tire and Derek helps him change it. Should be a simple task but for these two, nothing is simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm pretty sure it blew a seal.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try writing a chapter at a time thing. 
> 
> Multiple POVs
> 
> I’m aging everyone up to college age as if season one was freshman year in college.
> 
> Boyd and Erica are alive. Malia was living with Cora in South America. They both returned together. They had been living with a wolf pack with it’s own social structure. They are both adjusting to living around people. So there are still adorable social awkwardness. 
> 
> I will add tags as the people and activities are added. 
> 
> I work alone so all mistakes are mine. There will be mistakes. I think I find them all before but I swear, as soon as I put it here, mistakes aplenty.

Stiles heard the ticking of something embedded in his tire before even feeling the telltale wobble of a flat. “Shit, shit shit!” He maneuvered to the side of the road as safely as he could and wondered when the last time he checked the spare was.

Twenty minutes later he was holding a broken jack, stripped out of his nice button up and standing in the mud in his better Chucks. He was missing a sleeve of his t-shirt, oil dripped off his wrist like blood as he squinted into the headlights of the first car to come down back-road less traveled.

“Please don’t be someone from the department.” He muttered to himself. He told his dad he was going out for coffee but if words gets back that he’s broken something again, his dad is going to harass him again about not taking care of his mother’s Jeep. The guilt might just kill him this time.

The dark car pulled up and the roar of the engine after putting it in park felt a bit threatening. Stiles let the jack handle slide through his closed hand until the weight of it was more advantageous for swinging at someone’s head. Just in case.

The door opened and a faint familiar song drifted toward him as the booted foot hit the gravel. He waited for another second before the song cut out and Derek Hale stood, shut his door and sauntered toward him.

Stiles laughed partly with relief and partly because he just realized that the song was TKO by Justin Timberlake and the only image that came to mind was someone being dragged behind a truck. He isn’t afraid of Derek anymore. Not any less either. He has an appropriate level of fear for someone that has threatened his life as often as he saved it.

Derek is a silhouette against the headlights. Has he gotten bigger? Stiles tries to remember the last time he saw him. Was it the engagement party they threw for Boyd and Erica? Maybe it was the welcome home barbeque for Cora and Malia? He hadn’t seen enough of Derek to get past the trepidation and squelch the excitement. He was even Driving the Camaro again which Stiles hadn’t seen since Boyd and Erica took it on their pseudo honeymoon.

(They didn’t officially get married but they are now the bonded pair in the pack. Derek rewarded them for finding their calm and let them have car for the summer. Stiles still thinks he was trying to buy their favor after they considered leaving the pack.)

Derek stepped in front of Stiles, shading him from the headlights. Stiles let his eyes adjust before looking up from Derek’s chest to his face. He closed his mouth and flinched a bit. Wow, Derek was standing really close.

“You need help.” Derek stated with his usual annoyed flat tone. As if Stiles was a child asking for assistance yet again.

“No.” Stiles was nothing if not defensive.

“I mean, probably.” He waved the dripping cylinder to emphasize that this was not something he could have done to himself. “I drove over what looks like a joist hanger. It fucked up my tire. My jack then shit itself so...” Stiles dropped the greasy part next to the rest of the mangled metal that use to be a worthy tool.

Stiles looked down at his dripping fingers. The old oil was dark red-brown and viscos. It looked a lot like blood. He might have watched it for a bit too long. He still had the handle in his right hand, oil darkening that too.

“It probably fell of a truck.” Derek looked back down the road as if he could see where it came from.

“No, pretty sure it blew a seal.” Stiles puzzled.

“The metal you ran over. ” Derek glared back.

Again having a conversation where they misunderstood each other.

Stiles is already stressed, supposed to meet Malia again. Even though she was Derek’s cousin and officially part of his pack, she had taken an immediate liking Stiles. She wasn’t shy about it. Stiles really wanted to like her. She was beautiful and smarter than her social awkwardness expressed. He related to that. He was, however, intimidated by her aggressive physical affection.

“I have a something you can use to jack your rig.” Derek’s face was in shadow but Stiles swore he heard a hint of double entendre.

“What? You don’t wanna just lift it with your massive musculature? Your thighs look like they could do it without any wolf amperage.” Stiles laughed before he coughed. Embarrassed that he just admitted to inspecting Derek’s thighs.

Derek huffed. It might have been a laugh. It was dark.  “No, I have a ratchet jack.”

“How urban of you.” Stiles winked at Derek’s dark face. He couldn’t clearly see Derek’s expression but he was pretty sure it was an eye roll.

The phone in Stiles’ pocket started vibrating. He set the handle down and tried to wipe his hands of the torn bit of sleeve. It was already covered in oil and really did no good. “Fuck! That’s my date.” Stiles bent down to wipe his hands on the tall grass growing on the side of the road.

“Need me to get it?” Derek was suddenly behind him. His hand hovering over Stiles’ back pocket.

“Could you?” Stiles stood stock still as if Derek were made of angry bees.

Derek patted his butt before reaching his fingers into his pocket and getting the phone, clicking the answer button and holding it out to Stiles’ ear.

“Yep, I’m late.” Stiles used a shoulder to hold the phone as Derek slid his hand away. He shuddered as Derek’s warm fingertips dragged across his neck. Stiles took a step away nervous about Derek listening to his conversation. Derek walked back to his car and opened the trunk. He was obviously giving him privacy.  

“But you’re still coming.” Malia hardly ever asked anything preferring to make statements. “I’m hungry. If you aren’t going to be here soon, I’m going to order for you.”

“I’m so sorry. I have a flat tire but I can fix it now. Should be there within the next fifteen minutes so, yes, order for me.” Stiles hoped that fed Malia was less aggressive.

“I’m getting the spicy chicken for you and the Silpancho for me.” Maila said it as if it were a threat.

“Anything you want. I’ll be there before it gets cold.”

Stiles leaned into the open front door of his Jeep and dropped the phone onto the seat. He watched to make sure the call disconnected. He may be able to salvage the date after all.

Derek kicked the gravel out of the way and set the jack under the frame. He then started the process of pumping the handle. Stiles moved toward the back of the Jeep, lifted down the spare, and kicked the chock tight against the wheel. He might have used the reversed position to take advantage of Derek well lit arms, as they worked.

“You have a lug wrench?” Derek kept working. Stiles could see now that Derek was dressed down. Dirty jeans with well worn pockets and scuffed sections where he looked to have been wiping his hands. The ribbed tank was worn thin. Almost tissue thin. With the headlights on him now, Stiles could see the shadows where his chest hair was the thickest. He flinched as Derek stopped to look up at him. “Lug wrench?”

“Oh, yeah. I can get this part. I hold the Stilinski record for tire changes.” Stiles moved to the open trunk and used the opportunity of the obscured door to adjust himself in his twill pants. They were loose enough that his enthusiasm for Derek’s assistance was starting to tent the thin fabric.

He moved quickly, almost singing the steps in his head. His dad’s instructions worn into a groove in his brain.

He knelt on the ground trying to keep his pants as clean as possible. Derek stood next to him holding a flashlight so that he could see what he was doing. Stiles wanted to crack a joke or two about being on his knees, with nuts in his hands but he wasn’t sure he could manage the humor without his body betraying his desire to really be on his knees for Derek. He started counting instead, trying to keep on task. He worked swiftly and systematically. The only point where he had some trouble was threading the nuts back on. His slippery fingers getting the best of him.

“Here, wipe your hands off.” Derek was standing next to where he had knelt. He took a step into Stiles’ space and offered up the thigh of his pants, already smudged with paint and what looked like wood stain.

“Uhhh. Okay.” Stiles really wanted to get his hands on Derek’s thigh and hesitated, opting instead for the looser section of fabric closer to his boot. The fabric there was stiff so he moved up, matching his fingers to the smudges already there. Derek leaned into the touch, his muscles flexing under the attention. Stiles pulled away, counted the nuts again before blowing the dust out of the threads and getting back to the task at hand.

He finished and walked back with Derek to put the jack back into the trunk of the Camaro.

“Thank you.” Stiles leaned over to put the large jack into the mostly empty trunk. “I’m sure Malia will thank you as well.”

“You’re meeting Malia?” Derek fumbled around in the trunk for a bit before coming up with a packet of disinfecting wipes that had been tucked behind a emergency kit. He handed them to Stiles and then closed the trunk.

“Yeah. She’s been interested for weeks now. We seem to constantly miss each other for one reason or another. If we were a trapeze act, I’d have dropped her in the net again.”

Stiles ripped the package open and worked at getting the oil off of his hands as they walked back to the Jeep. Satisfied that they were clean enough, he picked up the phone. It had been thirty five minutes. There was a text from Malia. It was a picture of the bill and the containers to go. the text said ‘You owe me a better date and one hundred dollars. I’m taking this home to Cora. I’ll call when I’m not mad at you.’

“Fuck.” Stiles chucked the phone into the jeep.

“She left?” Derek asked.

“Yeah.” Stiles pulled at the ragged edge of the t-shirt sleeve he sacrificed for nothing.

“Wanna come back to the house? You can wash up. I have beer and I can grill you a steak.” Derek hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

“What house? I thought you lived in the loft?"

“I do. But I’m working on the old house. One of my guys probably lost that scrap so it’s the least I could do.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t lose control and crash into a tree. That would cost a lot more that a jack assist and steak after.” Stiles let the double meaning breath without laughing.

“I’m really glad that didn’t happen.” Derek looked pale in the headlights. His eyebrows so close they were almost one.


	2. DAMMIT DEREK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek hears a car stop on the private road some people use as a short cut. He goes out to help. 
> 
> Derek might be experiencing a very normal hormonal flux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my mistakes are mine to curse.

The truck filled with construction waste was overloaded. Derek watched as the father and son team he hired to haul it off tied down the tarp as best they could. He went to look for another tarp and by the time he got back, they had gone. 

The sun was setting on the almost completely remodeled Hale House. The grass was torn up from all the trucks and feet on it but the house was almost complete. He subbed out the larger tasks and was now left with painting, staining some moulding and doors, and knobs on drawers. He planned on inviting the pack in by the end of the month. 

This remodel was done without the pack finding out which was miraculous considering the gossip they constantly indulged in. It was perhaps because the memories the house invoked were uncomfortable for everyone. Even those in the pack that weren’t around for the fire. The secrecy made design decisions easier, it would be his house to live with. 

He had dreams of filling the house with family. Boyd and Erica would make beautiful children. He thought about them as he painted the Wainscoting with washable child proof paint. Isaac was still shyly interested in Allison. That relationship was nothing Derek wanted to think about. If they bridged the canyon between hunters and wolves, he would support them. 

Jackson wanted children of his own and had talked about it openly. (Therapists might say the drive was to heal the hurt of his adoption. Even learning that Peter was his biological father wasn’t enough. If anything, it opened up a new wound.) 

Jackson and Malia (Peter’s other secret child.) worked as siblings instantly despite being raised apart. She got Jackson. She could match his attitude quip for quip. She was one of the few people that could make him smile. Derek imagined raucous parties with sibling rivalry, popcorn fights and loud laughter. 

The laugh he heard in his head was Stiles. His huge laugh that overtakes his whole body, explodes energy into the room. He wanted to feel that laugh, to be close enough that Stiles would flail his arm across his chest and wrap him into the joy. He had seen Stiles with Scott, back slapping and elbowing in the ribs. He wanted that. His fingers twitched at the idea of tucking into Stiles’ armpits and making him writhe under him, cursing and kicking, eyes and mouth wide, gasping and giggling. 

The image morphed in Derek’s head as he rolled another stripe of paint along the wall. Stiles under him, arching and groaning, naked and wide eyed. The same level of enjoyment only instead of laughter, it was pleasure. 

He blinked back to the room, paint dripping onto the plastic sheet under his feet. God, were paint fumes affecting him? He knew he had some interest in Stiles. He had never been exclusively heterosexual but he really thought he had worked through his inconvenient crush years ago. 

Stiles had a trajectory for success that would take him away from Beacon Hills and Derek would live here. He was settled. Their paths were not meant to cross. 

The wave of lust rolled over Derek again joined by the image of Stiles in the back yard, shirtless and sun-warmed, reclined with a beer bottle in hand and his legs sprawled wide. Did this happen? Could it? He needed some air. He finished up the section of wall and moved on to another room. 

It was dark when Derek finished sweeping the last of the plaster dust out of the corners of the kitchen. He walked the trash out to the dumpster when he heard a car on the back road behind Beacon Hills. It was a private road cutting through Hale land but some of the locals used it anyway as a shortcut from the suburbs to the new shopping center that went in on the hillside above town. Derek considered putting up more signs and possibly a gate.

The car stopped. He sighed and checked for his keys. He could run over in less time than it took to drive but he would try to be a respectful citizen and offer assistance instead of a creep wandering out of the trees shouting about private property. 

His headlights swung around the bend illuminating the distinctive blue Jeep. And Stiles, huddled against it, squinting into the light, something dripping from his hands. Derek had a flash of panic. Was he hurt? He threw the car into park and accidentally stomped the gas as he was reaching for the flashlight in the glovebox. 

‘Calm down Hale.’ Derek’s instincts were jumbled. Some part of him rejoiced at seeing Stiles, especially after the indulgent fantasies. ‘It’s meant to be.’ His wolf brain was much more romantic and his logical self argued for coincidence. 

Derek breathed in the scene. No blood. Oil and rubber and frustration. Stiles smelled freshly showered and used some sort of cologne. Something with clove and molasses. His hair was combed neatly back and almond scented. Derek hunched his shoulders and clenched his jaw and fought the urge to put his mouth on Stiles. Everywhere. Starting at his wet temple and ending at the bare ankle peeking out from the hem of his pants. 

“Fuuuuck” Stiles uttered to himself with breath in it, as if Derek couldn’t hear. This put Derek again on edge, wanting that breath on his skin. 

“You need help.” Derek somehow knew just how to irritate Stiles. He knew defiance and liked to push against it. 

Stiles stood to full height now, waving the hydraulic cylinder in Derek’s face. Derek could hear something like worry in Stiles’ voice. He decided not to get Stiles more agitated. 

Stiles looked down at his hands with something distant and worrisome in his eyes. Derek saw what he did. The ominous dark red of the oil in a slow trickle, dripping of off the tips of his fingers, the back of his knuckles. There was some part of Derek's hindbrain that slavered at the image. Stiles’ muscular hands, dangerous, strong and skilled. His wolf only hunted with wolves and flashes of full wolf forms suddenly mixed with those of Stiles, running, hunting. 

‘Dammit Derek’ He heard Laura’s alpha voice this time. Scolding him back to the present. He looked past Stiles to the twisted piece of shrapnel in the flat tire. 

“It probably fell of a truck.” Derek looked back down the road. His shrapnel. He did this. He allowed the truck to leave without a secure load. 

 

“No, pretty sure it blew a seal.” Stiles didn’t even smirk at the punchline to the old and stupid joke. Stiles must be more anxious than he smelled. 

“I have a something you can use to jack your rig.” 

Derek lay another double entendre at Stiles’ feet, hoping that it would spur some sort of response. He got a raised eyebrow. 

“What? You don’t wanna just lift it with your massive musculature? Your thighs look like they could do it without any wolf amperage.” 

And there it was. The sass Derek was looking for mixed in with a stilted laugh. It had barely bloomed when Stiles closed again. Derek hardly heard the comment, so caught up in his need to hear the laugh again. Was it about his thighs? Oh, lifting. 

“No, I have a ratchet jack.” 

“How urban of you.” 

Stiles winked. At him. With his smirky scrunched lopsided smile and straight teeth, his tongue slipping out for a quick swipe across his top lip. Derek’s eyes rolled back as lust radiated out from his spine. He almost groaned. 

If Stiles hadn’t gotten distracted with the phone ringing in his pocket, Derek might have slipped his composure. 

Derek watched as Stiles spun around as if to look at his own ass, holding his oily hands away from his clothes. Derek crept forward to help him with it. When Stiles held still for him to reach in his pocket, they were both panting silent shallow breaths is if defusing a bomb. Derek clicked the phone and tucked it into Stiles’ shoulder. It was all he could do to keep his hands from wandering down Stiles’ back. God, he needed to touch his skin. 

Derek heard Malia. He knew she had talked about Stiles. He was aware of her interest but thought that Stiles hadn’t responded to her advances. The way Malia talked, it was as if he was avoiding her. Derek’s chest tightened with jealousy knowing that Stiles had done himself up for her. ‘He’s not yours’ he told himself. 

Derek put himself on task. Change the tire. Stiles has plans with someone else and he would help him out. Malia would be happy. He could be happy for her. If they worked out, Stiles would be family. He would take what he could. 

Derek worked the jack while Stiles got the spare and tools, chocked the tires to keep it from rolling and then was quiet, standing with his back to the lights so Derek couldn’t clearly see his expression. What he did perceive was that Stiles no longer smelled mostly stressed. He was aroused. Derek might have bent over for more than one item unnecessarily just to test his theory. It wasn’t until Stiles returned from the back of the Jeep with a oily handprint on the front of his pants that theory proved true. Derek swelled at the thought. 

Stiles knew what he was doing. Changing a tire being one of the necessary skills that often passed from father to son. Stiles chatted away with the story of his father teaching him how. Stiles making little rhymes and songs out of the steps. 

Derek didn’t learn how to change a tire from his father. He learned it from Laura. She had been given the lesson from dad who treated all his children with equal favor, male and female. Laura’s lesson was terse and short and took place in the middle of a corn-lined back road in the hot sun. 

Stiles fumbled around for a dropped lug-nut and caught Derek on the ankle. Derek waved the flashlight around until they spotted the stray. Stiles tried again to get the thread to catch only to slip and drop it again. Derek moved closer. 

God he loved those hands. Veins standing against his shiny skin, long thick fingers and wide palms. They worked fast and sure gripping the tire and jostling it onto the bolts with surety learned from practice. The smack of his palm against the tread of the tire like a spank of reprimand. Derek’s eyes flared with interest. 

Stiles was a conundrum. His face soft and young, large dark eyes, long lashes. In the half light he was pretty. In the bright sun he was beautiful. But then... He was not small. He was as tall as Derek and just as broad shouldered. He gave the impression of being slender with his long legs and slim hips but just like the difference between his curious pout and his furious scowl, Stiles was both hard and soft. And Derek was sold. This is what he wanted. Nothing else. Maybe he had once thought that dainty hands and painted nails were attractive. Given the choice right now, he wanted these hands. On him. On his skin, in his hair, in his mouth...

“Fuckety fuck!” Stiles fumbled again. 

“Here I am on my knees, slippery nuts in my hands...not at all how the dream went.” Stiles mumbled as if he didn’t know he was talking. 

“Here, wipe your hands off.” Derek leaned into the light. Stance wide and low. Stiles looked up with his eyes wide. He fumbled at the hem for a bit before putting a tentative hand on Derek’s thigh. The pressure at first feather light. Stiles took another turn, this time palm firm and fingers spread. Derek leaned into it wanting more. For those hands to knead and stroke, hold and twist. 

Stiles pulled back, shut down. Quietly completed the job and put away his tools. Then moved to put the jack in Derek’s trunk as well. Job done. 

Derek moved carefully keeping his face to the shadow side as much as he could. He couldn’t risk letting Stiles see that he was practically tearful with longing. 

“Thank you. I’m sure Malia will thank you as well.” 

“You’re meeting Malia?” Derek pretended that he hadn’t heard the conversation before. He'd tried not to listen. 

“Yeah. She’s been interested for weeks now. We seem to constantly miss each other for one reason or another. If we were a trapeze act, she'd be in the net again.”

Derek didn’t quite know what to say. His job as Alpha was to support the family, help them get what they wanted. He should tell Stiles something positive about Malia and offer him a brotherly ‘good luck’ punch in the arm. Instead he said nothing and watched Stiles check his messages. 

“Fuck.” Stiles chucked the phone into the jeep. 

“She left?” Derek asked. 

He thought back to Cora’s advice for Malia and her scolding tone. ‘Don’t chase what doesn’t want caught.’ Which was strange advice for a coyote but perfect advice for a person. 

“Yeah.” 

Derek watched Stiles fumble with the ripped sleeve of his t-shirt. His shoes muddy and his pants stained at the knees now too. Stiles might be upset at how he had dressed up just to have the night ruined but Derek saw exactly the person he needed. 

“Wanna come back to the house? You can wash up. I have beer and I can grill you a steak.” Derek indicated the direction of the house. 

“What house? I thought you lived in the loft?”

“I do. But I’m working on the old house. One of my guys probably lost that scrap so it’s the least I could do.” He would buy Stiles new tires this week. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t lose control and crash into a tree. That would cost a lot more that a jack assist and steak after.” Stiles joked but the idea smashed into Derek’s solar plexus. 

“I’m really glad that didn’t happen.” Derek needed to wrap himself around this man. Now.


End file.
